UB's Kangaroo Laureate Waxes Poetic

WK: Hey Carl!  You completed your first year at UB!  How’d it go? 

Carl: Wow.  It was so inspiring, prose fails me, so I wrote a poem about it. 

WK: No way. 

Carl: Indubitably.  My experiences as an English major at UB have empowered me to flex my verbal talents in a variety of startling directions.  Let me read you my poem.

[Lights dim, mellow jazz comes from somewhere.]

When you’re a kangaroo

You don’t know what to do.

Your heart is in your shoe.

You feel like sometimes you

Don’t know exactly who

You even are, it’s true.

When I first traveled to

The campus of the U-

Niversity of Bridgeport, you

Could see I had no clue

I thought that lies were true

I thought the sky was blue

I never even knew

The creature called a Shmoo.

But now I’m someone new.

I’ve had a real breakthrough,

Expanding my worldview.

I think I’ll learn Urdu

And ace my next job interview.

Cuz I’m a kangaroo

That bleeds not one but two

Shades of bloody goo:

The anti-color white

A vacant space of light,

And deepest lovely purple

Like when you get your fur pulled

And I feel like I can be

The kangaroo inside of me.

WK [snaps fingers beatnik style]: That’s fire, Carl.  It’s lit.  You should submit it to Groundswell, UB’s long-running compendium of student writing and art.  They have a pro-marsupial editorial policy, from what I understand. 

Carl: I’ll put a reminder in my phone. 

WK: Well, that’s all the time we have today.  Thanks a lot! 

Carl: English majors rule.